Missed Collections

Missed Collections

The little red post box set into the wall comes into view through the front screen of the post office van. It’s Wednesday. The first one of the month. What will be waiting there for collection today? 

Rhodri knows. 

For the past month or so, every Wednesday, there’s been a thin letter to pick up. It’s not so unusual in itself, but what’s odd is that it’s always addressed to the house opposite the box. It’s where William lives as the only permanent resident in this remote hamlet of second homes. It’s early summer, and no one has come to stay yet, which leaves only one possible explanation: William himself must be posting the letters.

Rhodri will open the box to collect the letter in his sack and send it on its way to the sorting office ten miles away, only to bring it back on Friday to slip through William’s door. Rinse and repeat every week.

Rhodri is more irritated than curious. He once found William, a creature of strict habit, pleasant enough for a chat now and then. But lately, William’s been so sour it’s hard to stomach. Rhodri sings in his world view in his habitual gulping country and western narration - “William, William, why the postal may-hay hem?”.

Today there are two envelopes in the box.

Well, now.

***

William clears out a cupboard, stacking twelve plastic glasses, paper plates, and wooden forks with methodical precision. He checks the Best Before date on the loaf cake once more: the end of the month—perfectly fine. The carton of milk still has a lifetime left—the wonders of pasteurisation.

To his irritation, a ridiculous comic song from the 1970s drifts uninvited into his thoughts. It was a silly play on words about a milkman offering pasteurised milk, claiming “as pasteurised is best” for a woman to bathe in. Her reply—something about being happy if it came up to her chest—strikes him as absurd. He scowls at the memory, shaking his head in disdain.

Turning back to the task at hand, he shuffles through a pile of sealed envelopes, batting them into a neat stack before setting them on the worktop beneath the cupboard. The stamped ones he places by the front door, ready for the post box on Wednesday—today is Thursday, so that’s less than a week away.

His gaze shifts to the window, and he frowns at the sight of the post van making its way up the hill, the idiot postman singing away inside. That guileless, fleshy face, smiling as if life were simple, only reminds William once again of the ridiculous song and its fool of a singer.

***

Jenny at The Pawfect Chateau opens an envelope and pulls out instructions for boarding a cat named Gus. He’s set to be delivered on Friday the 12th and collected on Monday the 14th, with cash payment enclosed. Today is Friday, so after a brief moment of panic, she checks the calendar and is relieved to see it’s a week away. Perhaps this is a response to the advert she put out announcing pre-summer holiday availability—but you’d think they’d check with her first to confirm she actually still had room. If they really loved their pet, surely that’s what they’d do? People are strange. She’d much rather deal with the cats any day.

***

Rhodri loves Saturdays. As he drives the red van up the hill towards the hamlet, he starts to plan what he’ll do once he’s off shift. Remembering the scowl he caught from William’s window last week, he makes up another country and western ballad: ‘William, William, looking so grim, I’m off for the weekend, let the sun shine in!”

***

On Sunday morning the pharmacy manager opens up to set up Monday’s deliveries. She packs both incontinence pads and laxatives for one drop off. She pauses, puzzled by the combination. Was it a case of reckless oversteering and overcorrection with medication? It’s hard to say. Perhaps she’ll include a few leaflets about speaking to a pharmacist for a check-up and advice—just in case.

***

Rhodri is still feeling jaded from the weekend as he nears the little red post box in the wall. The lane is blocked by a pharmacy van making a delivery. He waits patently behind it as the driver waits for an answer from William’s house. Nothing is forthcoming. Enjoying the little time out, Rhodri’s eyes wander to an upstairs window where he catches the twitch of something retreating to shadow. William’s cat maybe? Nice old boy - Gus? The delivery driver gives up and starts to write a card to say that he’s left the package behind the gate to the garden. Rhodri continues his round to the tune of “William, William, hiding so sham, they knock on the door, but you don’t give a damn.”

***

William missed his walk around the lanes yesterday, so now he has to do it twice today. In the past, when he worked, he had to wait until after his day was done to set out, but now, in retirement, he’s free to walk at any time. Yet he still sticks to the same routine of walking anticlockwise, so the final stretch is lit by streetlights as he nears home. It’s summer and there’s no concern about fading light, but old habits die hard. 

***

Rhodri paused at the café on the bridge to use the toilet, then, on a whim, decided to make an occasion of it with a massive bun and a rich hot chocolate. He sat back, feeling pleasantly full and a little drowsy, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he could be bothered to take the detour to the loop of lanes and collect the letters from the box in the wall. It was Wednesday, so there would be the usual envelopes from William—but honestly, what did it matter? Sod him. Sod him and his stupid letters. William, William, you’ve letters to spam, but I’m skipping them all, ‘cos i’ve just had some jam!”

***

Rhodri wasn’t sure if it was guilt over not collecting William’s Wednesday letters from the box in the wall yesterday that kept him from going up there today, or if it was simply that once he’d skipped it, the temptation to do so again was too easy to resist. But today, as he reached the turn for the loop of lanes, he shifted up a gear and drove on to his next box for collection. 

***

Jenny didn’t close up The Pawfect Chateau until 10 p.m., though she had a strict policy of no visits, collections, or drop-offs after 7 p.m. to give the cats a chance to settle for the evening. However, she made an exception this time, as someone had paid in full for Gus. It was highly unusual for a no-show in these circumstances.

***

Rhodri shook off his sulky reluctance, his excitement for the weekend preparations taking over, and indeed collected from the box opposite William’s house on Saturday. To his surprise, instead of the usual letter to William, there were letters addressed to the police and the county coroner. He felt a bit thrown and guilty. Standing by the post box with its metal door hanging open in a red gape, he looked about awkwardly. His gaze drifted up to William’s house. There was a cat in the window he’d noticed movement in the other day. Rhodri murmured quietly “William, William, caught in a jam, letters for the law, what’s your little scam?”.

***

A Sunday stillness is shattered by a lively gust of wind that sweeps the paper recycling bag from the side of William’s house, sending it like tumbleweed onto a nearby fence. The bag rips open, spilling several letters. Each envelope bears a postmark that’s been circled, with two additional dates written on—one for when it was placed in the box, the other for when it was delivered. Inside, on each folded paper, a single word is written: TEST.

***

Jenny strikes the booking for Gus off the calendar now that even the collection date has passed. She opens up her accounting software and notes that there was a booking that was not taken up against the funds received, in case she will need to make a partial refund.

***

Rhodri had completely forgotten about the unusual letters in the post box last week until the moment he got within sight of the little red post box in the wall. The lane was blocked again, but this time it was by the hideous acid yellow of the coroner’s van and a police incident response vehicle, its lights angry, insect-like, throbbing and pulsing. He unlocked the post box—empty. He made an awkward turn in the road to go back the way he came. A glance back in the mirror showed a stretcher with a large black bag. Rhodri couldn’t think of any words for a song today

***

Around two weeks passed. After he had inspected and noted the contents, the county coroner forwarded envelopes found at William’s house. At the red post box in the wall, twelve people gathered before going in to William’s house to eat the tea he had left for them. One of them brought the box of ashes from his unattended funeral that they were to scatter.

Exactly as he’d instructed.